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When I wrote “What I Learned from the Orthodox Jews”, I ended with this sentence:  “Most of all, I learned about friendship with people who were different from me in belief, practice, and culture.”

Some of the friendships that began back then continue to this day, and I want to tell you about one of them.  In order to protect his privacy, we’ll call him Adam.  Adam has been an Orthodox Jew his entire life.  He began learning Hebrew at age 5 and Aramaic at age 9.  He has never not been an Orthodox Jew.  His entire family is Orthodox, and some of them have no contact with Gentiles at all.  Due to his occupation, Adam has a lot of contact with Gentiles and has had contact with them via online discussion forums as well.  It was one of these discussion forums in which we met, and I felt very intimidated at first.  Not only was he knowledgeable about Judaism and the Hebrew Scriptures, he was knowledgeable about Christianity and the New Testament.  In fact, he had even learned Greek so that he could read the New Testament in its original language.

Over the years, we’ve shared (through instant messaging) what is happening in our families and lives.  We have met in person twice, have shared (kosher) meals together, and he’s even called me on my birthday to say happy birthday.

This friendship may seem odd to many people.  Often, in Christianity, male-female friendships are frowned upon.  And in Judaism, there are many rules about interaction with people of the opposite sex (so, for example, I couldn’t give him a hug went we met in person).

We’ve had meals together, where he laughed at my embarrassment over trying to correctly pronounce challah or where I looked in disdain at my meal when it arrived because it had mushrooms on it.  He took the mushrooms.

I can text him with dumb random questions, like, “Hey, I forgot the name of the thing you hang on your doorposts.  What is it?”  (mezuzah).  I can joke with him about how awful it is that he will never be able to eat the lasagna or chicken enchiladas that I make (dietary laws about not mixing meat and milk).  I can ask questions about things that don’t make sense to me in the Bible without feeling as if he is going to be concerned for the state of my soul for doubting or questioning.  When I read Christian books that say things about Jews or Judaism, I can ask him whether or not they get it right (I have one booklet that is supposed to be about Judaism and I can’t believe that it ever got published; the author had no real clue about anything!).  He can look things up for me in texts that I do not have access to.

Some Christians are probably reading this, wondering, “well, what have you told him about Jesus?  Have you tried to convert him?  Have you warned him about hell?”

No, I haven’t.

There are many reasons for this.  One, he already has an understanding of scripture that is different from my own; it won’t change.  Two, I don’t think I need to “try to convert him” or “warn him about hell” (plus, he’s had numerous Christians try to do this already).  Three, I think if I did do those things, it would ruin a good friendship and there are already too many broken relationships in this world.  I’m sure some people are disappointed in me for this; I’m sure some of you think that it is my duty to spread the good news to him.

But you know what?  None of that matters to me.  What matters to me the most is that one day, he said to me, “I’m glad I met you.  If I hadn’t, I’d have a pretty negative view of Christians.”  And I smiled, and I know that this friendship honors God and makes Him happy.

And that is good news.

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Kelly J. Youngblood is a writer who blogs about faith and life at http://renewing-your-mind.blogspot.com. Her main writing interests are identity, vocation/calling, and the Kingdom of God. She is married and has two young boys who keep her very busy and in need of coffee every morning and chocolate every afternoon. In addition to writing, she enjoys reading, fashion, ballet, attending college football games, and the newly discovered joy of bicycling with her family.

So I opened up Facebook yesterday and saw this. (LGBT friends, you may want to take a pass on this one. It’s pretty awful.)

I don’t even know what to do any more.

Do I respond? Do I ignore it?

If I respond, am I just adding to the noise? Am I just using a fringe-y statement to drive blog stats?

If I let it pass without comment, am I giving tacit agreement to this attitude? Am I another Christian who is choosing comfort over justice?

Of course, there are the selfish reasons why I want to be done with this.

I have some readers who flat-out disagree with me on this issue and I genuinely don’t like alienating people. There are people, even in my own family, who have questioned whether I’m even a Christian because of the stance I’ve taken, and every post just solidifies that a little bit more. There are the nagging thoughts that I don’t want this to turn into some “gay blog.”

The whole thing just makes me tired.

But I watch these kinds of videos or read these kinds of comments and my heart just breaks. Day after day real, live, breathing, human people are being treated like they are some kind of disease to be eradicated. Day after day I have to wonder if my kids are going to see the Church treat people with dignity or disrespect. Day after day I wonder what kind of emails I’m going to get from people who are being hurt by those who talk about love but think they get a pass because the person they’re dealing with is gay.

As tired as I am, I think about how exhausted my LGBT friends must be. How bone weary they must get when they have to live as second class citizens, both in their country, and for many, even in their faith. How tired they must be wondering if they come out, will they be met with open arms or clenched fists. How beat they must feel knowing that every decision they make is being scrutinized and judged by people who don’t know them or their families.

So if you’re tired, you can come sit with me, and we’ll lean on each other for a bit.

• Clay Morgan laid his blog to rest this week. Some of his bloggy friends sent EduClaytion off in style. Clay has some big stuff coming up, but this was the best way to end a blog that I’ve ever seen.
• I loved this piece by Dianna Anderson deconstructing the whole “don’t act on it” idea with regard to the LGBT population.
• My friends at The Courtesy Laugh made the iTunes New and Noteworthy list for their podcast. Go like their Facebook page and subscribe on iTunes. It’s some funny stuff.
• Kristin Tennant wrote a really honest post about our tendency to evaluate just how Christian a person is based on their checklists.
• CakeWrecks does it again. I hope that the year Jason and I turn 50 (or even 40!) someone gets us a cake JUST LIKE THIS.
• My favorite Christian band (band of Christians? whatever.) just released a new cd. I’ve loved The Choir forever. They were the first Christian group that showed me that you don’t have to limit what you write about. They are giving away their last album at NoiseTrade until tomorrow. Go grab it and then buy their new one. It’s good.

What have you read/written/watched/listened to this week that moved you? Link it up in the comments!

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“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.” – T.S. Eliot

I recently took my son to see the movie “Chimpanzee,” the latest production from Disneynature.  What originally was planned as a documentary on the life of chimpanzees living in the Tai Forest off the Ivory Coast of Africa, turned into the poignant tale of Oscar and Freddy, two of the most unlikely companions.

By following Oscar, the group’s youngest member, throughout the first three years of his life, the movie reveals the human-like emotional bonds between mother and son, the hierarchical social ladders of the chimp group, and their ingenious methods for adapting to life in the harsh jungle.  But more than just a documentary on chimpanzee behavior, the movie tells the griping tale of the relationship that develops between Oscar and Freddy following the death of young Oscar’s mother.

Orphaned and alone, unable to make sense of the death of his mother and without another available caretaker, Oscar’s future looked grim.  He sought the aid of other females in his group, but they were busy caring for their own young.  He sought friendship and survival training from older males, but they couldn’t be bothered with young Oscar, the lowest chimp in their intricate social hierarchy.  Which only left Freddy, the curmudgeonly Alpha Male of the group.

As the Alpha Male, Freddy’s sole responsibility was to protect the group from rival chimp gangs.  That, and accept first dibs on foods.  Freddy was a wealth of knowledge and power, without a nurturing bone in his body.  That is until Oscar came along and this most unexpected of relationships was forever changed.

Though the movie’s narration by Tim Allen is a bit corny and simplistic for adult audiences, I highly recommend it for family viewing given its breathtaking cinematography and poignantly emotional presentation of chimpanzee family and community relationships.  More than just a pretty “G”-rated nature flick, however, the movie touches upon key emotional and social similarities between chimpanzees and humans (which share 95 to 98 percent of the same DNA, by the way), including our ability to forge unexpected relationships  out of the ashes of a grim situation.

Whether we develop a wholly new relationship with a former stranger, we enhance and strengthen an existing relationship, or we simply alter the nature of an existing relationship, unexpected relationships have a tendency of arising out of the shadows of despair.  For instance, a lasting friendship may develop with a new neighbor following an unwanted relocation; a marriage may be reinforced following a struggle with infertility; or a friendship may develop with a work colleague following a massive layoff.

Several years ago, while in college, I struggled with an eating disorder.  The extent and duration of my illness was relatively minor, but it took me several months (maybe years) to fully recover.  Needless to say, between my excessive exercising and stringent diet, I was little fun to be around.  I was becoming unrecognizable, both physically and emotionally, and many friendships suffered as a result.

But as I look back on this time in my life, one friend stands out.  Throughout the entire ordeal she never judged, she never withdrew, she never complained.  She reluctantly ate the awful (but healthy!) black bean brownies that I made.  She went on long bike rides with me.  She celebrated my birthday with me even though it was hardly a gala worthy of attendance.  And when I finally admitted to myself and others that I had a problem and needed help, she agreed and helped me recover.

Prior to this time, the two of us had been friends.  In fact, we had been good friends since grade school.  But it was out of the darkness of this difficult time, that our true friendship emerged.  Our relationship was forever changed in a most unexpected way.  While other friendships suffered, ours was strengthened.

Just as relationships can be unexpectedly enhanced, other wholly new relationships can arise out of the darkness.  For example, the sister of a good friend of mine selflessly served as a surrogate mother for a couple that she had never met before, and the two families remain in close contact to this day.  Out of the darkness of infertility, new and unexpected relationships were created – not only a new parental relationship, but a new friendship between the two families.

No one wants hardship, struggle, sadness or despair.  We could all do without the hurt, the anger, and the frustration that seems to rain down at times.  But if there were ever something as certain as the fact that there will always be hardship and challenges in our lives, it is the fact that out of the ashes of those struggles, new and often unexpected flowers of relationships spring forth.  And, with a little luck and a lot of faith, we just may find the Freddy to our Oscar.

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Christine is the mom of two delightfully precocious little boys, the adoring wife of her husband of 8 years, a former lawyer, and a current writer.  She blogs at www.randomreflectionz.com about life, love, and humanity – basically everything from law, politics, and religion to relationships, love, and happiness.  She is working on her first book, a religious memoir focused on progressive religion.  You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.

As I wrote a couple of weeks ago, one of the primary reasons that I believe in God is because of music. There is something about the way that music moves me that connects me to that which is bigger than me. I have found this to be true, regardless of genre. Music does not have to be specifically Christian to touch me. In fact, some of my most spiritual moments have occurred while listening to music that is not Christian (every time I listen to this piece by Aaron Copland, I am assured of the divine).

Because of this, I’m sometimes disappointed by faith music. Surely if I can connect with God through secular music, I should be able to find him during sacred music, right?

One common complaint that I hear from those outside of the Church is that much modern Christian music is simply emotionally manipulative. Fast song to get you up and engaged, mid-tempo song to bring you into a more reflective state of mind, and finally a slow, repetitive song that will put you in an almost trance-like state that makes you feel like you’re having a moment. Rinse, repeat.

Of course, I want to yell that this is not how it works and how dare you suggest that it is!

But yesterday I was texting with Rich about a piece that we were working up for Sunday, and it struck me just how manipulative we can be.

The piece we were looking at is a hymn that has been reworked to make it a bit more accessible to a modern audience. Now, I have no problem with this. Over the past 10 years or so, I’ve seen a number of hymns successfully modernized, while maintaining the integrity of the original piece. As someone who grew up in a traditional, mainstream church, I have loved seeing a number of hymns that I know from my childhood redone in fresh way. I think musical evolution is a beautiful thing and I fully embrace that. Sometimes changing up the music of something that we’re very familiar with can allow us to rediscover an old lyric that we’ve not noticed for a while.

However, that was not the case here. In this instance, the hymn had been stripped down to a single verse and chorus. Where the original had numerous chord changes, this one had only four changes for the whole song. And while that alone is not necessarily a bad thing, this had no interesting movement in the accompaniment that allowed it to be musically interesting. The only thing that changes in the 4 minutes or so of the piece is that the vocals become more intense (a few additional harmonies and increased volume) and there are some additional synth pads added to the mix.

But it works. You can listen to this piece and be easily lost in it.

I hate that.

I hate it because we should be better than that. We should be able to create new music and if we use old music, we should do something interesting with it, not make it less interesting. We should be allowed to sing songs on Sunday that aren’t explicitly Christian without worrying that we’re finding God somewhere other than in our narrowly defined parameters.

And I hate it because it gives legitimacy to the idea that we don’t actually meet God during worship music, but that we’re simply emotionally manipulated into thinking that we meet God there. It’s frustrating because God can certainly use that as a vehicle to reach someone, but when it’s so obvious in its schemes, it makes it far more difficult to suss out being led by the Spirit and being led by the composer.

I read a lot about our Christian witness and how it’s damaged. We’re not tough enough on the homosexuals. We drink when we’re out to dinner. We have friends of the opposite sex. We watch the wrong television shows.

But what I have found over and over in my interactions with those outside of the faith, one of the biggest turn-offs is when we’re not honest. It may not bring people around to belief, but when we’re inauthentic, it’s a more direct affront. And if we can’t manage authenticity in our church services, how can we display that in our daily interactions?

Fortunately, I think there is still a fair amount of really top-notch music being made. But in our services, we need to start to consider singing about a few more things. We might need to sing about anger. Or doubt. Or families. Or friendship. Or grief.

If we want our services to be relevant to those attending, we need to be able to address all aspects of our lives. Music is a profound medium. Let’s stop using it as a manipulative device, and allow it to be a means to connect with all aspects of our relationship with God and with one another.

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Have you ever sensed yourself being manipulated by worship music? How do you sort out what is real? What musical selections would you like to see as a part of your next worship service?

For most of my life, the slogan for the US Army was “Be All You Can Be.” I regularly saw that phrase co-opted by the Church for various youth events and what have you. The culture wars have been raging my whole life and it makes sense that the Church thought that using something associated with the military would help. We were soldiers in the Lord’s Army. We needed to be all we could be.

Being all I could be was tough. Lots of rules to follow. Lots of deciding who was in and who was out. Lots of fear to contend with. Lots of questions that needed answers. But no matter what, I could never reach that mythical “all I could be.” It was always just out of reach.

So I gave up.

I didn’t have to be anything.

And when I gave up, I found that there was so much more to be.

When I gave up following all of the rules, I found more love.

When I gave up caring who was in and who was out, I found more peace.

When I gave up fear, I found that there was more joy.

When I gave up trying to answer the questions, I found more faith.

When I gave up trying to be all I could be, I found more of God.

And He helped me be more than I could be.

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This is a part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival hosted by Peter Pollock. You can read more submissions and add your own here.

A few weeks ago Tina called after a difficult week at church. Her pastor was preaching a series about marriage, and he was all about “getting real.”

From her perspective, “getting real” meant that he was about to talk about sex.

Now, I am all about sex positive messages. The Church has been timid about sex for far too long, and we need to stop that. So you’ll get little argument from me about the need for the Church to get real about sex.

But I don’t believe that a hetero-normative, men-love-sex-more-than-women, everybody-gets-married-one-time, all-couples-are-both-Christian message is all that real.

The percentage of married households is under half at this point. Around 80% of singles in the church have had or are having sex outside of marriage. The LGBT population is right around 3-4%. At least a quarter of all households are interfaith. About a third of people in the church have been divorced.

Unfortunately, getting real rarely covers any of these topics, other than a cursory, “Don’t do that.”

How can we be real when we ignore the single people who have questions about masturbation? How can we be real when we pretend that there aren’t any gay people in our churches? How can we be real when we talk about the man wanting sex more when there is a refused wife dealing with the pain of being rebuffed again the previous night? How can we real when there’s a man attending alone because of his recent divorce?

I fear that often in our attempts to be real, we become more alienating because our definition of “real” misses so many people.

And ultimately, I’m not sure if the pulpit is the place where we can get real.

In order to get real with someone, you need to know the real them. You need to know their stories. You need to have spent time with them. You need listen. You can’t have that kind of relationship while speaking at people.

In lieu of a genuine relationship, we can only speak in generalities. There may be truths contained within those generalities, but for the most part, it’s simply going to be real-ish.

If we want to get real, our best bet is love. When we preach the genuine, deep love of Jesus, it allows people space to be more honest about their pain and struggles. It allows people space to have authentic friendships. It allows people to find ask questions that don’t have easy answers.

Love allows space for people to move from real-ish to real. 

• My friend Sarah Bost-Askins lives in North Carolina, so she had an up-close view of the goings-on the going-on there. I absolutely adored her poet’s reaction to the results of Tuesday’s vote on Amendment One.
• Rachel Held Evans wrote that people are growing tired of the culture wars and want to wash feet. In a post on Friday, she began to lay the groundwork for how we can begin to make that move.
• Justin Lee of the Gay Christian Network wrote probably the most balanced post I found about the North Carolina vote. I love his voice and cannot wait to read his book.
• I missed this post in last week’s round-up, but it’s so good I just can’t let it go. Eric Pazdziora wrote about effeminate worship. Just fantastic.
• Janet Oberholtzer wrote a fantastic post at Runner’s World about running the mile you’re in. An important reminder for runners (you know, if you run more than 1 mile) and for life in general.
• Nick at Face Meets Fiction sent me a lovely post that he wrote about a miscarriage that he and his wife experienced. The pain of losing a child is one that I have not experienced, so I appreciate it when someone is able to put that into words.
• I love, love, love stories about friends. Jen Luitwieler wrote a gorgeous tribute to her friend after she finished her first full marathon. This is just a wonderful post.

What have you read/written/watched/listened to this week that moved you? Link it up in the comments!

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Somehow I always knew that my faith wouldn’t survive a Real Test. Being a middle class white American male, it wasn’t tested that often, so it wasn’t really an issue. The question of “why does God allow bad things to happen?” was purely philosophical to me. Most of the time I was comfortable with pat answers, or I just didn’t think about it.

Then, about a year ago, a perfect storm of circumstances occurred. Toxic behavior by the leadership of our church, combined with the revelation that my father-in-law (a pastor who was one of the people who led me to Christ) had molested his son.  Almost worse was the fact that he didn’t see why his church needed to know about it.

My faith packed up and left town in the dead of night with the headlights off, leaving in the same mysterious way that it had arrived ten years earlier. What had once felt real and tangible to me was now a memory.  I had been an agnostic in college (after growing up Roman Catholic), and I could feel myself moving back toward that. The questions that I had always had about Christianity pushed their way to the forefront of my consciousness and loudly demanded answers. The most brazen of the bunch was, “Why would a loving God allow this to happen?”

But things were different this time. In college I had been single. Now I have a wife and two small children who have been forced to come along on this journey with me, and I can’t tell them where we’re going or when we’re going to get there, because I don’t know. My questions are in the driver’s seat and I’m just riding shotgun, hanging on for dear life.

If I could make this journey myself and spare them the pain, I would. While I’m at it, I might as well wish for a million dollars and a pony, because both wishes are equally likely to come true. My oldest daughter Sophia is four, so the pain has already started.

“Daddy, did God make it rain?”

“I don’t know, kiddo.”

“Daddy, it’s your turn to pray.”

“Umm…deargodthanksforthefoodamen.

Last night I came home from work, and my wife told me that Sophia had started praying for a better attitude while in timeout. Without thinking I turned to Sophia and said “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

I should note that she started praying on her own – my wife didn’t demand that she do it. My wife and I had a frank exchange of ideas regarding the incident. She felt I was ridiculing her beliefs and making her look foolish in front of Sophia. I assured her that wasn’t what I had been trying to do. But I can see why she felt that way.

We agreed that we would hold off on talking to the kids about religion for a while, and that when we do talk to them, we should talk to each other first about what we’re going to say.

The funny thing is, this situation causes me less worry than bringing up my kids Christian. That situation is fraught with questions as well: what church will we attend? What’s their youth group like? When will they want to be baptized? When will they accept Christ? Am I praying with them enough? The list goes on.

I want my kids to make their own choices. Children can handle a bi-lingual family, why not a bi-faith family? If children aren’t taught from an early age to handle questioning of their faith, how will it stand up when they enter the dreaded “Real World”?

I won’t be upset if my kids choose to become Christians. Or will I? I don’t know. I know I will be upset if they are close-minded, intolerant, or uncaring. But many non-Christians are afflicted with these ills, and many Christians avoid them.

Again, I would have been more stressed a year ago. What if my children don’t accept Christ? What if my grandchildren don’t accept Christ? What if they accept Christ but have a lukewarm faith? What if they don’t attend the “right” church? What if they’re (cue dramatic music) LIBERAL?

Is it possible that the situation I’m in now is easier? Perhaps for me, but not for my long suffering wife. It killed me to hear her sobbing upstairs last night after our frank exchange of ideas (which is code for “fight” if you haven’t picked up on that by now).  We both thought that the religion question was one that was settled and wouldn’t need to be revisited. Surprise!

My wife has been very supportive through all of this. She’s given me time to work things out, she’s supported my blogging about my journey, and she hasn’t pressured me or tried to “fix” me. Periodically she asks me to try various things, and I try to be accommodating. I’ve met with my former pastor. I’ve met with a Christian friend who was concerned about my lack of faith.  I’ve read books. I’ve tried different churches. None of it works, of course, because the answer to my questions don’t exist. No one knows why God, if he exists, allows horrific things to happen while still claiming the baffling attributes of all knowing, all powerful, and all loving. I’ve read Job.  Most of the rest of the Bible too. The question remains.

Here’s the thing: with the exception of how my exception affects my wife and children, I’m perfectly fine with where I am.  I’m fine with just seeing where the journey goes, and where I end up. But I’m concerned about the effect it will have on my family, so I keep throwing stuff at the wall and seeing if it sticks. And I will keep trying.

Because that’s what love does.

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Heretic Husband blogs anonymously about his journey, among other things, at Confessions of a Heretic Husband, and is also on Twitter (@HereticHusband).  He lives in New Hampshire with his long suffering wife, two daughters, and cat.  He enjoys writing stories, writing computer software, and making people laugh.

Elderly Arop Majok holds her grandson, 2-year-old Majong Manywer, whose mother was killed in an attack in South Sudan during which more than 100 people died. Young Majong's brother and sister were killed alongside his mother. (Photo: Michael Arunga/World Vision)

My children love to visit their grandparents. My husband’s parents live here in town and they schedule regular sleepovers with the kids. My children go there to eat ice cream and watch movies and spend a night being spoiled.

My parents take each of the kids on a separate vacation. Each child gets to choose a destination and they spend a few days being treated to a trip with their grandparents.

Our kids hear funny stories about what we were like as children from their grandparents. They find out more about the family history from their grandparents. Grandparents and fun are interchangeable terms for my kids.

For many children, this is not the case. The gap between here and there is almost unthinkable.

I would love it if you’d stop over at the World Vision blog to read the rest. And please consider clicking the picture below for information about child sponsorship for a child who has lost a mother. You can help bridge the gap today.